The Twelfth of October
by Emily1213
Summary: "You're a handsome boy, aren't you Alex?" Mr Blunt asked him enquingly. Alex blinked slowly. Though he wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting, this certainly wasn't it. He didn't say anything. "We have a problem Alex. One which we think you may be rather good at solving." Alex is sent to infiltrate an underage prostitution organisation.
1. Chapter 1

"You're a handsome boy, aren't you Alex?"

The morning of the twelfth of October had been a dreary one. The sky, like atmosphere had been distinctly grey. London, and in fact most of Britain, had seen a month of this dull, wet weather and the general mood of Alex's school had been low. The autumn term at Brookland Comprehensive had, for once seen Year 12 with a full set of students, much to Alex's delight. He had had almost a month of school after the summer break and though not all of his teachers conceded, at least some of them thought he might scrape a few A-Levels. Mr Grey was especially thrilled to see Alex back at school. His little stunt in Venice had worried the teacher more than anything else, but a whole year had gone by and Alex was proving a more punctual, more attentive student than he could ever have hoped.

Alex had relaxed into the monotonous pattern of school life, doing his homework, turning up for classes, having lunch with his friend Tom. Tom had been one of the few happy to see Alex back at school. Most of his year had either been too busy to notice him, or just didn't care but a couple of his old friends had even smiled at him in the corridor and he doubted they knew just how happy that made him. But of course, the peaceful month had ended abruptly on the Monday morning which was the twelfth of October. Alex had been dressed for school, black trousers and blazer jacket, a somewhat ruffled white shirt which looked like it needed an iron and a dark burgundy tie. He had missed the uniform. Wearing gave him a sense of belonging and normality. But there was nothing normal about the phone call he had received just as he was heading out the door.

The phone call had been from MI6, stating that he was urgently needed for a meeting, and could he please take the car waiting for him outside rather than the tube.

Alex had almost decided to be contrary for the sake of it, but he had looked outside at the pouring rain and thought that he would be mad to shoot down an offer of a free lift.

The driver had taken him to the familier building which was the Royal & General Bank on Liverpool street. When they passed the waterlogged section of pavement just outside, his chest throbbed painfully. Minutes later Alex found himself sat opposite Alan Blunt who as just as grey as they day outside and several other important looking men in business suits. Alex recognised some of them. The Minister of defence was there and so was the head of MI5. They had not been introduced to him and Alex was left guessing as to who the other three were.

"You're a handsome boy, aren't you Alex?" Mr Blunt asked him enquingly.

Alex blinked slowly. Though he wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting, this certainly wasn't it. He didn't say anything. There was silence. It was Mrs Jones who spoke next.

"We have a problem Alex. One which we think you may be rather good at solving."

"Unless it's algebra, I'm afraid I'm not interested. You'll have to find someone else." He rose to leave but the two security guards by the door moved to stand in front of it, blocking his exit.

"Alex please sit back down." Mr Blunt said, sounding mildy exasperated. Seeing no other option, Alex sat, folding his arms angrily. They had never kept him here by force before.

"We have a problem which has been ongoing for a while now, but we fear you may be the long awaited solution." It was the head of MI5 who spoke this time which surprised Alex. He had never heard him speak before, he always seemed to follow rather than lead.

Alex's eyebrows furrowed "What's the problem?"

The head of MI5 looked at the man next opposite him and the other inclined his head. Alex did not recognise him.

"For some years now there has been a high amount of underage prostitution in cities all over the UK. We think that these rings are connected with several other rings in several other countries. Our Intel shows us that there are at least three countries in Europe who are part of the same organisation." He passed Alex four files, all with the word PIACERE stamped on the front in bold lettering. Alex opened them one by one to reveal that they all were files on suspects. As he read, the man he did not recognise continued. "There are representatives from each country who we have spotted meeting together. Miguel Santos, Italy, Jean Baptiste Laire, France, Daniel Franc, the UK and Malachai Donatello, Russia." He paused "Donatello seems to be behind it all, or at least, he may have been the one to expand his organisation." He pointed at the lettering on the front of the file. "PIACERE into other countries."

Alex looked up from the pictures of the four men.

"And you want me to what? Steal pictures or documents from them or something?" He knew as he said it, this would not be what they wanted him to do. The extra security on the door told him that.

Mrs Jones bit her lip. "No Alex," she began quietly, "we rather hoped you could infiltrate-"

Alex cut her off with a derisive laugh. "Mrs Jones, if you're going to ask me to whore myself out and then tell me it's for the good of the country then you can save your breath."  
There was silence once more. Then Mr Blunt spoke.

"Alex, we are not going to ask you to 'whore yourself out' as you put it, rather you are going to, whether you want to or not."

"Alan!"

"Mrs Jones, I do not enjoy being so forthright but you see Alex, you're the only one who can do it. As I'm sure you've noticed, you're the only one here under the age of 18."

Alex rose to his feet. "So get someone else to do it, get someone to be a customer or an investor. I'm sixteen Mr Blunt." Alex's ears grew hot. "I haven't even had sex yet and you're asking me to have my first time with some fat, middle aged pedophile, just so you can get another win to help save your failing career. I won't do it."  
Surprisingly it was Mrs Jones who spoke next. And what she said shocked Alex, she had always been the one to stick up for him, to protest against Blunt's orders but this time, she offered no such resistance.

"Alex, you've got to understand, there are young children there, being forced into that life. It will destroy them. The trauma they go through, their childhood's being ripped away from them by men and women three, four times their age. Alex, you can help them."

"Don't you _dare_ manipulate me like that Mrs Jones." Alex was on his feet again. "You forced me into this life, a life I didn't even want. You say that it will destory their childhood? You've already done that to mine. You're no better than them Mrs Jones, so don't you dare pretend you are. Making me do this will _destroy me_ , I've gone through enough for a lifetime and I just got out. You _cannot_ force me back in. Take PIACERE down another way. Mrs Jones, please."

The emotionless mask which was her face did not crack. Blunt took over.

"Alex, you're the best hope those children have got. Once you see what they go through, once you live through it, you'll want to help them." Blunt sounded if he was pleading with him, but the words were emotionless and Alex, who had never feared the man in his life now felt something akin to horror and fear. How could the man be so emotionless?

"I won't do it." Alex strode over to the door, but the security men still barred the exit. "Let me out." he said to the man on his left. The security man shook his head stoically.

"You can't be okay with this," Alex pleaded him, trying to meet his eyes. "They're going to send me to Russia to be raped, to have my virginity and what's left of my childhood stripped away all at once," The security man met his eyes at last. "Is that what you want?" Alex whispered. Doubly flit across the man's features and he locked eyes with his partner. He too looked doubtful, then, the man from MI5 spoke.

"If you want to keep your jobs, your families, your education, your money, even your _names_." The man said forcefully, "then you will guard that door with your _life_."

The men nodded at each other and then looked away from Alex deliberately. There were tears in Alex's eyes now and he let them fall. He tried once more. "I'm only sixteen," he said, his voice cracking "you know this isn't right." He gestured to his uniform. "I'm still at school for God's sake." The men did not budge and Alex gave up.

He looked at Mrs Jones and the rest of the room. They were all watching him carefully.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked resignedly.

"Get close to Malachai Donatello." Mr Blunt said briskly "Find out where all the brothels are, who owns them and where they find the children. We suspect most are refugees, but there are still a good amount who are actual citizens of the country they're being held in. We're sending you to one of the bigger ones in Russia. You do speak Russian don't you?"

Alex nodded. "I learnt at Malagosto."

"Well then. The plane leaves in two hours." Blunt clapped his hands. He sounded so business like it made Alex sick.

"Lead the way"

The whole room stood and out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw they guards at the door leave. He extended his hand to the head of MI5.

"I'm glad to be working with you" he said innocently. The director took his hand it was then Alex struck. He stepped forwards and jerked his hand upward, letting his hand hold the very tips of the directors fingers so they were bent backward uncomfortably. The man cried out in pain and Alex grabbed his wrist, dragging his arm out to the side so the older man was off balance. He used his left leg to sweep the director's right and sent him crashing to the floor. Alex followed quickly and before the man could raise a hand to defend himself, Alex pressed his knuckles into each side of this neck, choking him.

"Alex!" It was Mrs Jones. He looked up at her innocently. He felt the man's fingers scrabble at his fists and he pressed harder.

"Mrs Jones." he said, calmly

"Alex, release Mr Grundy now or-"

"Or what, Mrs Jones?"

The security guards must have heard the sound of the body hitting the floor as a second later, they came rushing back in, aiming their guns at Alex. He released the newly dubbed 'Mr Grundy' and placed his hands in the air by his head.

"Don't shoot!"

It was Mr Blunt who had shouted.

"Don't shoot," he repeated, "we need him healthy." Alex scowled at him.

There was a tense silence. The MI5 man was still on the floor, wheezing and clutching his wrist. Alex was breathing hard. He wouldn't go without a fight.

The door swung open and in walked a man of about 50, with a graying beard and a startlingly bald head. He was wearing a white coat. A doctor then.

"Where is the patient?" he asked expectantly.

Blunt pointed to Alex.

Alex readied himself into a fighting stance but he had been so focused on the doctor, he had not noticed one of the security guards move behind him. Alex had stepped back onto the guard's right foot and two, thick arms now embraced his chest, lifting him from the ground. His arms were trapped. Alex kicked backwards with his feet and tried to hit the man holding him. His feet met only air. He yelled in frustration and felt a hand over his mouth. He screamed louder. The doctor approached cautiously and pulled out a needle. Alex struggled harder. The man made shushing noises and Alex glared at him, switching to trying to kick the needle instead. The guard simply moved so the doctor was on the struggling pair's side.

"This won't hurt, just try to relax"

Alex could feel tears making their way down his cheeks once again and he screamed as loud as he could against the hand covering his mouth. He felt the right arm of his blazer being pushed up to reveal the skin of his forearm and felt the prick of the needle.

There was nothing he could do. He was helpless in the hold of his captor. He looked up at Mrs Jones but she would not meet his eyes. He started to feel drowsy. His arms were released and he felt himself lowered carefully to the floor.

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the dull, grey face of Alan Blunt, who was smiling down at him, looking triumphant.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay so it's short, but don't worry, the next one will be a proper chapter.

Thomas Beattie went home after work, feeling more ashamed then had ever done in his life. Jon Louten went home feeling much the same way. Thomas Beattie and Jon Louten were security guards at a bank called the Royal & General on Liverpool Street. The bank however, wasn't a bank. Sure, it had the fancy foyer, the posters full of false promises and the dazzlingly pretty receptionist, but the bank had no investors and no customers. No real ones anyway. The bank was in fact, the head quarters for a sector of the British intelligence; MI6. The job of keeping the building secure was one which came with high stress, and high risk. It also however, came with a high pay rate. These were the factors which both Jon and Thomas had taken into consideration before taking the offered jobs. The factor they hadn't taken into account was Alex Rider.

The morning of October twelfth was one of the most testing mornings of their lives. They had been asked to secure the door and prevent the kid from leaving at all costs. They even had had to lock the window, despite, in their opinion, there being no possible way the kid would try and climb out of it.

They had discussed the job at length in their locker room, excited as this was a most irregular task. There had been hints of a promotion if they did it well. They had been expecting a dangerous, young, violent assassin, brought in to see the heads of just about every director of every sector of the British government, before being tried in front of a jury. They had most definitely not been expecting a schoolboy with a serene air of innocence to enter of his own free will, looking like the meeting was an inconvenience rather than a death sentence.

This unexpected character had thrown them off kilter. The boy was amusing, it had to be said, and when they had heard what the rest of the guests had been planning to do with the kid, and most evidently against the boys will, well the two security guards had wondered whether they ought not have been helping the boy escape instead of caging him in. The boy had looked up at Thomas so imploringly, tears welling up in innocent brown eyes and he had almost caved. He had shared a look with Jon and saw that he too wasn't going to stand by and watch this happen. But then the man from MI5 had spoken, in his dull, grey voice and threatened their jobs, their families and their livelihoods and both men knew that they would never walk out the building if they let the boy go.

Even as Thomas held the kid against his chest, his mind was racing, trying to convince himself that this was for the better, that the kid had to do this to save countless other children. Children like his own; just like little Benjamin and Lucy, and he held the boy tighter. The kid screamed and Thomas covered his mouth, wishing the boy would be quiet so he could pretend that the boy wasn't a boy but a terrorist, or someone who deserved what he was about to be thrust into. Though no one could deserve that, could they? He watched as the doctor injected the kid with something which made him go instantly weak and heavy. He set the boy down onto the floor as gently as he could and, with a nod from Mrs Jones, resumed his position at the door. Jon hadn't moved from his spot, but he looked up as Thomas approached and nodded grimly.

They were dismissed seconds later and they left hurriedly. The pair looked back at the kid, who was sprawled out on the floor and Thomas felt bile rise in his throat. What kind of monsters could do that to a kid? Guilt flooded him and he left the building hurriedly, not speaking a word to Jon as he left.

A week later, Jon Louten was promoted to Head of Security on Floor 22. The same day Thomas Beattie was promoted to Head of Security for the entire Block A. Two days later, Thomas Beattie had hung himself from the curtain rail in his bathroom. On the floor below him was a note, written in a elegant but shaky hand which simply said:

"I'm sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

Alex woke slowly, his head throbbing. He was lying on something hard and cold and though it was uncomfortable, Alex's body felt uncoordinated and heavy and he could't move. He blacked out once again. The next time he woke, his body felt hot and flushed, and the ground was no longer cool enough to provide him comfort. With an enormous effort he opened his eyes. He may as well have saved himself the trouble, the air in front of him thick and dense, the details of his surroundings obscured. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

He pushed himself up into a seated position and immediately wished he hadn't. His already limited vision swam and he swayed on the spot. After several minutes of trying not to collapse again, his world stopped spinning. He blinked slowly and looked around. The light was fading, and Alex deduced it must have been late evening. The smog, for that was what had been obscuring his vision, had begun to clear during the few minutes he had been lightheaded, and vague shapes were making their appearance in his line of sight.

He was sat in what seemed to be a narrow alleyway. The passage was badly covered with what looked like tarmac. The alley was about half a metre wide and opposite him was a dirty brick wall covered with torn, weather beaten posters. There was a flyer on the ground next to him, it was newer than the ones plastered on the wall. He picked it up, holding it close to his face. In the centre there was a picture of a very pretty young girl. She looked a lot like a young Sabina. Beneath the picture there was a caption.

"Have you seen my daughter?"

The caption was in a blocky lettering. It confirmed his worst fears. He was in Russia then. MI6 had really dumped him in the middle of Russia with no gadgets, no communication and no clue what he was doing. The posters on the wall advertised third rate bands and offers of herbal massages. Alex could only guess at what extra service the masseuses provided. He looked at the young girl in the photo again and he felt a lump in his throat. It was more than likely she had been taken by PIACERE.

Alex plunged his hands into the pockets of his blazer jacket that he was surprised he was still wearing. The pockets were empty. He checked his trousers. Nothing there either. MI6 had really left him alone this time. They hadn't even given him the pretence of back up. He took a deep breath, thinking. Previously, MI6 knew that he would complete the mission, or at least try to, but this time, if they gave him enough resources, a passport, money or gadgets, he may have been able to get away. Leaving him with nothing but the clothes on his back had been their only option. This way, he had no option but to complete the mission. It was his only way out. It was a cruel irony. To get away, first he had to get in.

Well, if it was going to happen. It was going to happen. He got to his feet, trying to convince himself he wasn't as scared as he actually was. Alex glanced down at his watch. Nine o'clock. Assuming that MI6 hadn't bothered to change the time according to the time zone, he reasoned that it was about eleven. The smog had all but cleared and the rest of the alleyway was visible. There were bits of wet cardboard and litter strewn over the floor next to a old industrial looking bin. He walked on shaky legs over to it and peered inside. There were several bags piled inside, one which had split open. Rotting food. There must be a restaurant nearby then. Despite the decomposition happening next to him, he suddenly felt very hungry: he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Not knowing when he would next be able to find somewhere to eat, Alex headed out of the alley and set off down the street looking for the entrance to the restaurant.

His legs still felt more like jelly than actual legs, so he was forced to clutch the side of the building as he walked. He stumbled more times than he actually took steps and by the time he had reached the front of the building, he had grazes all over his hands and forearms. The front of the building was, impossibly, more drab than the back. It looked out onto a dingy river, the front door was in line with the gates of a lock in the bend of the water. The building itself was little more than dire. The frames of the windows and door were wooden and badly painted. They were aged and distressed, the paint and wood chipping away. The lights were still on and however dark and dingy the place was, it was better than nothing. He pushed the door open, trying to look as healthy as was possible, made more difficult as everything was spinning once again.

Even from his blurry view of the room, it was obvious that the restaurant was filthy. There were ominous dark stains on both the ceiling and floor. The wallpaper was peeling and looked at least 30 years out of date, there were only two customers in the restaurant, sat together, huddled in the corner. They looked up as Alex stumbled in. One had a long, protruding nose which jutted out from his face comically. The other was plain looking aside from the oversized, white suit he wore. They turned back to their discussion.

Alex sat down at the nearest table and rested his his arms on the cool surface, putting his head in his hands and closed his eyes. The room was rotating horribly.

"You lost?"

Alex lifted his head at the sound of a voice above him. He looked at the woman who had spoken. She was a stocky, plump woman of about fifty. She looked like she had been beautiful in her youth but now she looked almost motherly, if not for the deep frown lines which had formed on her forehead. He shook his head, trying to look like it didn't pain him to do so.

"No." he looked around for effect "Do you have a menu?"

Though he phrased it as innocently as he could, the woman gave him a suspicious look and continued to stare at him for several seconds until Alex felt uncomfortable.

"Kitchen's closed." She said finally. Alex felt his heart sink. No chance of food tonight then. Alex's dismay must have shown on his face for the woman continued. "I can make borscht?"

He grinned at her, relieved. "Yes, please."

She nodded at him and disappeared into the back of the restaurant. Alex set his forehead which now felt as if it was on fire against the cool surface of the table. Whatever had been in that drug the doctor had given him evidently had disagreed with him. His hands were shaking and he stuffed them under his thighs. What seemed like seconds later, though Alex's reasoning told him it had probably been minutes, the woman was back with a small bowl of cold borscht. She set it down in front of him and he sat up.

"Thank you."

She nodded at him and moved away to the other table, flipping the 'open' sign on the door as she passed. Alex lifted the spoon and sipped the soup slowly. The borscht was nothing like the one he'd had when staying with Ian in Russia several years ago. This one was salty and lumpy. There was a map on the wall next to him and he reviewed it as he ate. It was a map of Moscow from the eighteen hundreds. He peered at it, trying to appear as if he wasn't trying to work out where he was. He found what he was looking for just as he finished the bowl of borscht. The sharp bend in the river with the lock; Komsomolskaya Square. He suddenly felt queasy, it had nothing to do with the sub-standard borscht.

Alex had read about Komsomolskaya Square. It was well known for its dodgy reputation. The district contained three train stations, all of which brought unsuspecting tourists into the city and into another world. The police presence was almost non existent, with the majority being corrupt or too lazy to care. Suspiciously idle men and women could be found at almost every street corner even in broad daylight, business increased by the heavy influx of traffic and migrant workers. It was common knowledge, that if you should enter the region, you needed to get out straight away.

But of course, Alex couldn't do that. He was stuck here until he had found out the details of Malachi Donatello's business. If you could call it a business. Still, at least he knew where he was.

"That's three hundred Ruble." The woman was back.

"I'll come pay in a minute."

She stared down at him accusingly and he smiled back at her pleasantly. She tutted loudly and stomped back into the kitchen. Alex didn't have any money. He felt immensely guilty about not paying the woman, but he had no real choice. He stood and made his way over to the kitchen doors

He passed a mirror on his way toward the kitchen and stared at himself. His hair was mussed slightly flat on one side, the cold had turned the tip of his nose pink and his cheeks were flushed red. His uniform was tattered, the blazer jacket which had been pristine this morning, was now frayed and worn around the edges and elbows. His tie had been mostly undone and now hung loosely around his neck, the buttons of his shirt undone so his collar bones were fully exposed. He felt angry and humiliated at the fact someone had dressed him up like this and set about buttoning up the shirt. His hands stopped half way. It would help in the long run, he supposed. The thought made him sick to his stomach but he shrugged the feeling away. He moved passed the mirror and came to a stop next to the kitchen door.

There was a broom propped up next to it and, feeling awful, he slid it between the handles of the double doors so it lay horizontal against them. He glanced at the men in the corner, they were both staring at him. He strode over to the front door quickly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw them both stand. He flung the door open and ran full pelt out of the restaurant. He heard the slapping of leather on stone behind him and knew he was being pursued. He sped up.

He jumped up onto the lock gates and carefully balanced across them, careful not to fall, the water would be freezing this time of year. He reached the other side and sprinted down a side street, then another, and another. He twisted and turned, doubling back on himself incase he was still being followed. He didn't see a soul. There was absolutely no one about, but this didn't surprise Alex, it was freezing after all. He lent against a wall, out of breath and ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. He was just contemplating where he would spend the night when-

"Oi! You there, stop!"

Alex whipped around, it was Nose from the restaurant, accompanied by the old woman. She looked pissed. He turned and ran towards the other end of the street but before he had got two paces, Suit appeared, with another Alex had not seen before. The other man was thickset and looked much scarier than the other two.

"Steal from Maliuta will you?" Suit shouted "Steal from a harmless old woman?"

"I-"

"Shut up boy. You're coming with us."

They had closed in on him now, they were less than a metre away. He was thoughrilly trapped.

The thickset guy Alex had no idea where had come from, grabbed his arm in a bruising grip. Alex thought about wriggling out of his hold, but knew with the other three escorting him, he wouldn't get far.

Alex was led through winding streets and down passageways and across bridges for at least ten minutes, by which time the surroundings had grown much nicer. Beautifully well kept streets had replaced the dark and dingy ones he had woken up in. There were immaculate window displays in the shops which lined the streets and there wasn't a single item of litter in sight. Alex's nerves were growing out of control. Where was he being taken? Were they going to have him killed for not paying for his borscht? Or worse, were they going to take him to the very place he had been sent to investigate? He bit his lip nervously. He stumbled occasionally and every time he did so, Nose kicked him, hard.

They came to a stop outside a house. It was a tad out of place in the middle of the row of shops, but it looked grand enough that Alex suspected no one really cared. There were several steps leading up to the front door and he was frogmarched up them. Suit rapped on the door with his knuckles and Alex's heart rate sped up. The thickset man grinned at him. Alex didn't like the feeling behind that smile one bit.

The door swung open a second later and a young woman dressed in all red appeared. There was loud music and delighted yells coming from inside the house, and she was holding a cocktail glass filled with a clear liquid. Judging by the smell on the woman, it was vodka.

"What is it?" the young woman said sharply. Though she smelt horrendously of vodka, her voice and mannerisms did not betray any sign of drunkenness.

"This boy tried to rob Maliuta." Suit explained quickly. "I know Urie would not like this, so we have brought him to you."

The young woman looked exasperated and took a large gulp of her drink. "Rosan, I told you, you cannot bring us every thief you find. We will not pay you for such trivial matters. Take him away."

"But-"

The young woman raised her eyebrow at Suit, or Rosan, Alex supposed, challenging him to continue. She moved to shut the door but before she could, an arm wrapped around the young woman's shoulders and a man slid into view. The man was about forty, still with a full head of dark hair, but it was greying at the edges, his face looked kind and a little worn.

"What's happening darling? It's your birthday you should be-" he trailed off when he laid eyes on Alex.

"I was just explaining, Papa, that we won't pay Rosan for each street rat he brings us."

"Quite right, Saskia dear," The man said, kissing his daughter's cheek. "now why don't you rejoin your party, I know you want to, and I'll deal with this, hmm?"

Saskia nodded and walked away, not before she glowered at Rosan.

"Now," said the woman's father. "Rosan, here's" he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pile of bound notes. He flicked through them briefly. "About four thousand Ruble." Rosan's eyes lit up. "And I'll take the boy from here, okay?" He handed the stack over to Rosan and he nodded. "Yes Urie. Thank you."

Rosan pushed Alex forward toward Urie and he rejoined the three waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Alex looked up into the face of the man who had just effectively bought him and knew he was in the right place. There was something behind the eyes of this man when he looked at Alex, something not quite right.

Urie pulled Alex into the house and closed the door behind him.

"This way," he said, gesturing to the left

Alex almost obayed the command and then stopped himself. It could be beneficial if he thought Alex couldn't understand him, he was more likely to talk freely in front of him. Instead of moving he replied, but in english.

"Sir, I'm sorry," he put on his best frightened voice, though in reality he didn't have to put much on. "I can't understand you. I don't know where I am. Please."

Urie stared at him puzzled, and then said, in perfect english.

"You're English?"

"Yes, and I don't know where I am. I was on a school trip but I got on the wrong train and I don't have any money and I just want to get back, please." 

Urie seemed to process this information, slowly. He grinned slowly.

"English" he said to himself, this time in russian. "I've not had an English boy before."

Alex's stomach flipped, if he hadn't been sure if he was in the right place before, he certainly was now. He controlled his face and molded his expression of revulsion into one of polite confusion.

"The man leaned forward and grabbed Alex's elbow and guided him to a door on the left. "let's see if we can't clean you up eh? And then we can find your classmates. I expect they'll be worried about you."

Okay so, that's my first draft. I've not read through it yet, and in my defence, it is almost 3am and i'm tired. A-Levels are hard folks, who knew?

So yes, have a slightly disjointed story and sorry for the errors in the other chapters - hopefully i've sorted them out. But anyway, yes i tried to write but in not sure i should post before proof reading again cause there will be errors - please tell me if there are any and if anyone has any ideas or suggestions they want to share then please do :))

Okie dokie, I'm going to sleep now. Ta ta.


	4. Chapter 4

Urie surveyed the boy before him. He was short, though probably about average height for his age, standing around five inches shorter than himself. He looked apprehensively up at Urie with dark, serious chocolate brown eyes and he sensed an intelligence behind them which the rest of the boy's stature didn't convey. Though he was sat nervously on the edge of the chaise longue in the living room, back ruler straight and fingers twisting together in his lap, he had a strange sense of something which could have almost been coolness to him, that was of course, if his body hadn't betrayed him.

Urie found this complex, contrasting mix of emotion quite endearing. The boy's confusion and indecision betrayed his innocence and it made something inside Urie stir. He raked his eyes up and down the slight, svelte figure on his settee. The school uniform the boy wore was dirty, tattered round the edges and undoubtedly english. There was some sort of school crest stitched on the pocket of his blazer. His eyes moved higher, the collar of his shirt was open, tie loose around his neck. Urie's eyes travelled upward to the tender dip of his collar bones and once there, his gaze was reluctant to leave. He wrenched his gaze up his neck to the boy's face. The wild, frightened look on his face he had had when at the door had relaxed into one of careful trepidation.

His jaw was strong and the boy's youth meant that the skin was still tight and smooth across it, there was no hint of stubble anywhere on his cheeks. The boy's bottom lip was being continuously worried between his teeth, he looked like a scared schoolboy. Which was what he was, Urie supposed. It was, once again, difficult to move his eyes away from the boy's distracting mouth. The serious brown eyes were staring directly at him, and he quickly swept over the rest of the boy's features. Though he could not see the intimate details of his face from across the coffee table, Urie knew from his fleeting observation of the boy at the door, that a small smattering of freckles dusted the bridge of his nose. His hair was fair and much longer than the popular modern styles, delicate curls brushing the side of his cheeks. Urie wanted to tuck them behind his ear but he controlled himself, clearing his throat deliberately.

"So, boy." He said, leaning back in his seat, "What do they call you? Back in England hm?"

The boy fidgeted in his seat, looking unsure of himself. Finally, he said, "Alex, sir."

Urie's heart gave a particularly violent beat, his cock jumping. He crossed his legs tightly, leaning forward closer to the boy opposite. "Just-just call me Urie, Alex" he stumbled over his words, trying to ignore the steady throbbing from down below.

Alex smiled, a little more sure of himself it seemed, "Urie."

There was a knock at the door. "Come!"

The door opened and a wave of music followed his daughter into the room.

"Papa, I must-" she started, but Urie cut across her.

"English, please Saskia, our guest here does not speak our beautiful language."

She rolled her eyes at him, folding her arms across her chest. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and began again. She looked at him pointedly.

"I don't think you want him to hear what I'm going to say, Papa."

"Really Kia? Now?"

"Yes, Papa. Now."

Urie turned to Alex who was evidently trying not to look confused and he said in English, "excuse me for a second Alex."

The boy nodded, staring wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape, at Saskia. Straight then, no matter.

Despite the fact that Alex couldn't understand them, Urie still felt that at least some degree of privacy was needed, he walked over to where his daughter was stood and took her elbow, directing her to the corner of the room.

"What is it? I'm in the middle of something here."

"I'm aware of that Papa. You know I wouldn't interrupt..recruiting..if it wasn't important." She fixed him with a pointed stare. "Rico's rung, he's asking for the next lot."

"So? That's nothing we don't know already. By the end of the week we'll have more than enough for him."

"Papa. He wants them tomorrow."

A cold chill ran down Urie's spine. Tomorrow? There was no way they would have enough kids by that time. He bit his lip.

"How many do we have?"

"Eighteen."

"Shit."

"Papa, what about-" She gestured at the boy who was looking intently at his fingers, which were still restlessly twisting around each other.

"Don't be silly Kia, he doesn't even have a clue what he's walked into. He's not been taught, he's obviously straight and even more obviously a virgin. What will Rico say? Even worse, what will Malachai say?" As he said this, he felt a stirring between his legs but he pushed it away.

Urie's mind was racing. If he gave Alex to Rico without any training, without even a basic knowledge of what to do when presented with a client and a bed. His reputation would be in tatters, Mendeleev and Tyvitsa would take his place as a senior. He voiced these concerns to Saskia.

She raised a thin eyebrow. "I don't know Papa, you'll have to think of something." she walked to the door and walked through it, turning before it closed and said briskly, "Rico's coming at three to pick them up. You need twenty kids, figure it out. Oh and Papa?" He looked up at her. "Put that away." She pointed at his trousers. The door fell slowly shut behind her.

Urie ran a hand through his hair, sitting down on the sofa opposite Alex once again, crossing his legs determinedly. Could he put Alex in with the other kids? No. The idea was preposterous, besides, he rather liked the look of the boy. With his unreadable emotions and startling virginal shyness. His cock throbbed again. He ignored it as best he could. He had to do it. Then the number would be at least nineteen. And if Rosan could find a rent girl before three tomorrow, he might just make the deadline. He had to let Alex go. He could always blame Maliuta for Alex's inexperience afterall, there was no reason he would have to take the fall.

"Sir? I mean- Urie?"

Urie looked up at the boy. His eyes were wide and he looked desperately confused. "Is everything alright?"

"No, Alex. I'm afraid not."

There was silence. "Is there anything I can do to help? You know, in return for saving me from those people?"

Urie almost grinned. Saved him? If only the boy knew what was to be his fate. It was a shame. If Urie had had his way, he would have spent weeks, maybe months wooing Alex, telling him that it was unsafe to leave whilst Rosan was looking for him.

"Actually Alex," he said pleasantly, "there is one thing you might be able to do for me."

Okay, so it's short. Sue me. I'm meant to be revising Geography. Also, always read the chapter before the one I update as it will be different (I edit things too much, like whole plot points will be added and deleted. Sorry.) If anyone has any suggestions on what to write. Please help, I don't have times to form ideas. I've got a basic outline of how things work but any scenes which you can think of, tell me, and i'll write them. Well I'll try to. To the best of my ability. Which admittedly, is nothing to write home about. Anyway. Hope you enjoy and all that. I didn't write this one at 2am this time, (more like 1am) so it's a little bit more well written. :)

Emily.


	5. Chapter 5

So, first of all - Sorry

If anyone saw there was an update and their brains went 'oooooooo' (however unlikely it may be) I am very sorry

Well kind of.

I finally get to be _that dickhead_

Anyway

I'm rewriting the story - its gonna be slower, better, more planned, and generally just a little more well-written.

I'm not deleting this version, not yet anyway I probably will do in a few months time.

The new story will eventually be posted on here and on my Ao3 account - astarisbroughtbacktolife

The star is by no means me.

So yeah, if you want to read a better version you know where i'll be (albeit in like a week or two)

Sorry again to the maybe 1 person who got mildly excited, and goodnight. :)


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